April 20 2012: Osh to Bishkek (Part ii)

Morning at camp:

I make it over the beautiful pass, everything getting greener and greener.

What stands out on the side of the roads, are the amazing bus stops from the Soviet days.

I stop to buy some supplies and some Camca. The restaurant owner tells me to come in and I’m treated to tea. Before I know it, there are a half a dozen of Kyrgyz men sketching their questions out on paper for me. It’s an enjoyable time, nice to rest out of the sun, and have some local company.

Riding through a valley and then up into a beautiful green area of rolling hills. Scoping out camp, my first search is a failure so I watch, and wait, for 2 cars to leave that are on top a hill in a beautiful green meadow.

I’m really stoked on this camp site and push my bike up and over for about 2 km from the road. The bed of clover is so comfortable…so comfortable…I know it’s going to be one of the best spots of all tour.

April 19 2012: Osh to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan (Part i)

I started off a little later than I had wished from Osh. Last minute preparations and saying goodbye to the boys.

There was a very strong urge in me to get back on the road, and solo. I have been told numerous times that a lot of folks get invited into homes along routes in Kyrgyzstan. Setting out, I wasn’t looking for that, but rather some prime camping and alone time. There is a freedom you have when your solo and camping. Don’t get me wrong, I interacted a lot with locals on this route…I just didn’t want to deal with the hassle that sometimes homestays have.

The first day, April 19th was a slow and hot day out of Osh. Of course I managed to get turned around exiting the city but finally found my way out and on my way to a little mini pass on the outskirts of the city.

I stopped in a little town for some early dinner Camca – they are the kiln fired buns with lamb inside. Ordering 4, they are larger than a fist and I’m hoping I can eat all of them.

An older man invites me over to share his tea. He begins to talk to me, and we go very slowly as I can’t speak Russian good enough. Continuing to pour my tea, I take notice of how he watches me. He seems harmless enough but there is still something unsettling about him.

He tells me he lives near by and he has kids. Asking where I will be staying for the evening, he invites me to his home. At least is what I take from the broken conversation. This would be a moment where I wished for a male friend. No women or children around him, I just feel uncomfortable with him and thank him for the tea and move on.

On the edge of this town, I will buy my only bottle of water for the next 8 days. Now, I probably wouldn’t recommend that someone “Fresh From the West”. There are a lot of wells, mountain runoff, and hoses that have fresh, cold water. If I’m ever in doubt, I’ll wait around to see if the locals are drinking it.

I don’t travel with a water filter, although I wish I did at times. I’ve found, at least for solo travelers, if the area has water the locals are more than willing to help you. Also, I use a technique of letting the water sit in the sun, through a clear bottle, and let the UV rays kill some of the junk. Along with boiling it if time allows or I’m really doubting it.

There are a couple of little mini passes on the way to the 2 major passes to Osh. I begin to climb the first little one towards sunset.

I think about camping on the hillside and I begin to watch the sunset. A shepherd comes over and begins to chat me up. He’s kind and I learn the Russian word for China by talking with him. He’s hanging around so I decide not to set up camp and to keep moving on and up.

The sun is setting quickly and I’m not going to make the pass so I get off the road and push past a garbage pit and up into the hills.

I can hear sheep and a few shepherds but don’t see anyone.

A man gets out of his car and comes up the hills to talk to the shepherds. He then comes over to me to make sure I have enough water. He leaves me be and I set up camp.

I’m never really fearful of shepherds, never had a problem with them. They are usually too busy tending to the herd to bother me.

Well, it’s silent for the next couple hours but then…then…this is what I’m kept up with ALL NIGHT!

I’m basically awake all night, between the “bahhh bahhh” and the gas release and the shepherds talking and waving their flashlights around. One shepherd is examining my bike as I’m peeking out and I shout, “HEY!”, trying to lower my voice and sound as firm as possible. It pops him away.

No sleep at all.

Is that you, Death, sleeping at my side? (or The Last Day of Freedom in Tibet)

Place: U-Tsang, Tibet Autonomous Region
Time: September 2011
Approaching 20th day since illegal entry

The days on the plateau were calm and peaceful. Spending my days alone, on the saddle or pushing up over ridges, headed towards the horizon. The view of my route leading right up to the heavens. Lifting my arm up in the air knowing that if I were to stretch my skinny, frail and knotted body just a little further…I could pluck a cloud right out of the blue sea I’ve been swimming in.

The past couple of nights, sitting in my tent and looking up at the sky, questioning how much longer I could endure this. I was starving, my drive for food had nearly vanished. The ringing in my ears being the only sound that kept me constant company. Hunting for water by climbing to the top of hills and finding the fresh, bubbling source…while avoiding the run off that interweaves around yak and elk tracks (maybe wolves). Fingers and toes taking on a purplish hue and a constant lethargy, my daily desire to find somewhere to sleep away the days.

Death…what will you feel like? Perhaps I have an idea.

As I zipped myself into my green down coffin, inside my green tomb, I envisioned myself not waking up from this life but continue to live on in this glorious dream. I was in the most magical and beautiful place in the world. Alone and free…and I have never felt such a rush of true happiness in my life.

Awaking that day with a rain shower, camping next to a lake, as I unzip my tomb, I am overtaken by a bright and transparent azul lake with a range of shimmering glaciers.

To the West, I can see thick storm clouds touching the horizon with the winds prickling against my face as I question my agenda for the day.

Exhausted, I zip up and fall in and out of sleep with the sound of the rain and wind against this green tomb, my home.

Moments, the storms would subside and silence and brightness would enter the tomb. Some time would pass and it would become dark again and I would fall into a dream, the sound of the rolling water down the nylon.

It wouldn’t be so bad to spend the day here, I could set off tomorrow for Nima, as I was only a day ride away. Having a little water and some snacks for survival, yet my belly is getting smaller and smaller and more difficult to force something down. What is happening to me?

Late afternoon, after the storm has cleared, I stick my head out in the sunshine and see the Tibetan family approaching. Nothing to worry about. My concern is on the massive storm clouds coming closer and closer from the West.

A few men, a child, and a woman come over to me. The younger man can speak a smidgen of Mandarin and I’m directed I need to get going, that I can’t stay. This is the ONLY time this has ever happened to me. All other times I would have been invited into their home for tea.

My conscience tells me that these folks may not be like all the other souls I’ve met along this path so without an argument or pointing at the storm clouds I crawl out in my pjs and begin to pack up. I’ll go a few kilometers up and set up camp for the day.

I’m moving so slow, slower than I’ve ever moved before. The family sits about 2 meters from me and watches my life in slow motion. They have brief discussions when I shove my bag into a tight bag or break down the tomb poles. Just a sentence or two…nothing more.

Slipping some clothes over my pjs with my intent to go back to dreaming in just a couple of hours. What’s happening, all I want to do is zip up into my green lit tomb and dream…….

The storm clouds are black and they are nearly hovering over me.

The winds are whipping everything around and I have to move fast to prevent my possessions from being blown over the plateau.

We are engulfed in darkness and the air temperature drops fast. The Tibetans and I say goodbye and they watch me walk fast towards the West and they begin to run home to duck out of the storm.

I’m hit with cold ice from all sides. It’s painful. It’s cold. Battered…it’s a hail storm.

There is a bridge going over a stream of glacier melt behind me.

I push my legs as fast I can, and backtrack, past the Tibetans to hide under the bridge. They watch me pass without an offer of help or shelter. Being pummeled by ice, I jump off my bike and duck under the bridge.

Trying to stay dry, I press my body against the cold and damp concrete of the standing structure. It’s this or be misted from the sides and ice dropping down between the wooden slats above.

I watch cardboard boxes and other miscellany fly by with a great speed, tumbling over what ever stands in it’s way. When I stick my head out from under the bridge, my hair is whipped around and my face stings as if I’m being attacked by an angry swarm bees.

Early evening, the sky opens up and the plateau has returned to its near blinding light. The dark clouds are to the South East of me and perhaps if I move fast enough I can stay out of this storm.

The remainder of light is spent going up and down over the plateau, avoiding glacier melt, ditches, and trenches. I may have had a Tibetan or two pass me on his motorcycle, that part of this memory is not so clear. My soul was elsewhere, a place that’s not on this earth.

Nightfall arrives late on the plateau, after 9:30.

There is a brilliant full moon. She lights up the sky and earth for me. Never have I experienced an evening like this. I am Moon bathing and her energy is lighting up everything for me to continue on. Never have I seen such a clarity.

I recall having a feeling of “the end”. It had been visiting me for the past couple of days but that night, under the stars, I remember thinking, “this is my last day”. It wasn’t some starved, crazy woman thought…it was very clear, as clear as the night sky that had engulfed me…womb like. It was calm, I was not scared or anxious. This was the end.

Pushing through the moonlight, I hear this “huff…huff…huff…huff…huff”. What is this deep breath I continue to hear. I stop, I listen…it has stopped. I start pedaling again and I hear “huff…huff…huff…huff”. Am I delusional or am I hearing this…can someone tell me if I really heard this? “huff…huff…huff…huff”…

It must be the Tibetan deer or elk. What else could it be? I had seen them in the fields for 100’s of kms. All alone, with no soul around, there is not even an instant of fear. “Huff…huff…huff…huff…huff…”, this breathing continues as soon as my feet make their revolutions. Stopping when I stop.

Perhaps it was my “Animal Guide”, the Moose, did I finally slow down enough for him to catch up with me. Our first encounter under the silver flecked night sky.

The plateau is a very tricky place to estimate how much road is ahead.

I had seen motorcycle lights weaving along the horizon, like shooting stars. Further ahead I could see spotlights dancing in the sky, they must be coming from Nima.

Repeatedly telling myself, “just a little further, just a little further”.

Close to midnight, I gave in to the calling of sleep.

There is a Tibetan village. No lights but I hear a couple of dogs and watch the single light drive off the road and up to the ridge. The moonlight exposing the little concrete buildings to me, with a grey smoke slowly rising above.

I never feel comfortable entering a village at dark, especially around midnight.

The village is about 1km South of the road…I set up camp about 2 meters North of this road. In the morning, we will be able to clearly see each other.

One reason I camp close to people is because if something were to happen, I can find help. I’ve had practice with my “War Cry” so I know the glass shattering sound will pierce their ears.

As I set up camp, for the final time in Tibet, a single light approaches me. I squat behind the tent, to avoid any interaction and hopes they will just leave. It works. They pull up about 1 meter away to look at the tent and move on without a word.

I stand there and I look up into the sky. Trying to photograph this moment doesn’t work…it shows “nothing”. What I see and feel can not be described in a photograph, it barely can be scribbled down on paper, let alone, being pecked into a blog entry.

Curling up in my tent after gazing into the heavens for nearly an hour, I fall asleep…questioning, “is this all a dream” and knowing…it’s over.

Pleasant Memories

As I’m trying to update my blog, and drag monsters out of the desert past, I should post some wonderful moments to remind me of all the awesome. Don’t you think?

Tibet camp, looking like a garden gnome. This was around 9am at over 4500m altitude. September 2011

Somewhere in Kham, Tibet…as we arrived towards a very strange Tibetan village deeply set in the mountains. July 2011

I would love to hear from you!